A GARDENER'S WORLD

A GARDENER'S WORLD; Preserving the Past, Studying the Future

By ALLEN LACY

Published: December 31, 1987

OF all the months in the year, especially in the colder parts of the country, January has the least horticultural interest. Except for a few heaths, which I admire greatly for their habit of blooming now to lend touches of pink and white to the winter landscape, everything in the garden has gone to sleep.

But in its symbolism, January has a profound lesson to teach about gardening. It takes its name from Janus, the Roman god of portals and of beginnings and endings, who is generally depicted as having two faces. One face looks back, the other forward.

Janus, although no longer worshiped, still deserves respect from gardeners, because we, too, if we're faithful to the task, must orient ourselves toward both past and future.

Our obligations to the past concern preservation of its treasures by continuing to grow, on a small scale at least, the plants our ancestors knew and loved. Newer is not synonymous with better. Many gardeners have acquired a passion for the old roses of the 19th and early centuries, which A GARDENER'S WORLD remain unsurpassed for their opulence and heady fragrance.

I know some gardeners who specialize entirely in such heirloom or antique plants. One friend in Virginia seeks out varieties of apples grown in Colonial times and in the early days of the Republic. He has collected the bud wood from well over 900 kinds, which he has grafted onto dwarf trees in his orchard. His backyard is a living encyclopedia of the historic apple.

Another friend specializes in ornamental perennials in existence prior to 1900, which he has rescued from the gardens of abandoned farmhouses, graveyards and demolished houses. He grows the plants in his own garden and keeps track of them and their histories with a computer. His collecion is impressive, to put it mildly. The last time I checked, he had 49 dianthuses, some dating to the early 18th century, and 104 forms of ivy.

Then there are the members of the Seed Savers Exchange, with headquarters in Decorah, Iowa. These amateur gardeners, who live in every part of the country, keep heirloom varieties of vegetables in existence by raising them from seed and saving the seed to pass on to others.

What they do is more than a hobby: it amounts to preserving germ plasm that may be useful in future breeding projects. They contribute to genetic diversity in a world where powerful forces, such as agribusiness, work in the opposite direction.

But we followers of Janus also need to look forward, to study the 1988 nursery catalogues to see what new wonders they contain. One variety that many gardeners will want to plant for many years to come is a group of achilleas hybridized in West Germany and introduced to the United States by several nurseries.

I can think of no plant as rich in human associations as the achillea. Its scientific name goes back to Homer and to the legend that the centaur Chiron taught Achilles its medicinal value in cleansing the wounds of his soldiers during the Trojan War. A decoction made from its pungent leaves was in use for similar purposes on Civil War battlefields.

The British herbalist John Gerard claimed in the 17th century that chewing its leaves was an infallible remedy for toothaches. European folk medicine held that a tea made from its flowers would banish depression and prevent baldness. Linnaeus recommended the leaves as a fine substitute for hops in brewing beer.

The achillea has acquired a plethora of common names. The most common is yarrow, but it has also been known as bastard pellitory, calico border plant, carpenter's grass, devil's plaything, nosebleed, old man's pepper, sweet maudlin and woundwort.

In America, various species of achilleas, but especially A. millefolium, have become roadside weeds. Brought from Europe by the earliest settlers, they escaped from gardens and now grow almost everywhere in the country, their ferny foliage and their clusters of off-white or pale-rose flowers lending a pleasant note to the summer landscape.

As garden plants, however, the achilleas have, with one exception, been poor choices. Most of them spread and sprawl, giving an air of untidiness to the perennial border. The exception, a cultivar called Coronation Gold, is, however, genuinely splendid. It makes a sturdy clump of gray-green, deeply dissected foliage, eventually reaching three feet high and four feet across, with many long-lasting flower clusters that can be dried for winter arrangements.

Coronation Gold now has lots of company. In his nursery near the West German industrial city of Kassel, Heinze Klose has developed a new set of hybrids, which combine sturdiness with glowing colors. One, called Hope, is a soft and creamy yellow. The others - Fanal, Paprika, Salmon Beauty, Weser River Sandstone - occupy the pale-pink to ruby-red portion of the spectrum.

Several American nurserymen, who have in recent years paid closer and closer attention to Continental European as well as British horticulture, have seized on Mr. Klose's achievements with the plant Chiron gave Achilles three millenniums ago. The result will be a joy for those of us who look forward as well as backward with old Janus.